Savage Tempest (28 page)

She shivered at the thought.

April, the Sunflower-Planting Moon

Joylynn, big and pregnant, too large to help the women prepare the land for planting, stood just outside the entranceway of her tepee, her eyes on the sky.

The previous autumn, the waterfowl had flown south to the Old Woman Who Never Dies, carrying gifts to ensure a good harvest for another year.

Since the Old Woman Who Never Dies caused the plants to grow, and sent the goose to signify corn, the duck to stand for beans, and the swan to represent the gourd, the arrival of the waterfowl was a good signal that she gave her blessing and the planting season could begin.

Joylynn's hands rested on the great swell of her belly; her doeskin dress was much too tight now.

But knowing that the child would come at any
time now, she had not sewn a larger dress for herself. She did not want to waste good doeskin. If she could bear the weight of the child, she could bear the tightness of the dress for a few more sunrises.

Her feet were swollen, but she would not allow such a simple thing as that to stop her from getting where she wanted to go. Joylynn walked to the edge of the village and gazed toward the valley, where the crops would be planted near the river bottom. Many women were there this early morn.

In preparation for the time of the birds' arrival, the women had hung large amounts of dried meat and other offerings on drying racks that had been set up in the valley.

Joylynn was told that, usually, when the women were preparing an old plot for planting, they would rake it and carry the dead grass and stalks beyond the fields.

But this was a new field, and they were cutting the brush and spreading it out on the ground; the standing trees had been ringed, ready to be felled.

The women would lay the trunks and branches of these fallen trees on the ground to be burned over the field in order to make the soil soft and pliable.

The women were very excited and filled with hope over what had happened yesterday. They had seen geese winging their way from the south, then noticed one group circle a moment over their offerings on the drying racks, only eyeing them, and then settling on the opposite shore of the river.

Elated, not caring that the birds had ignored their offerings, the women had counted again and again the number of birds.

To their great joy, there had been exactly eleven.

They had shared this joy with Joylynn, running to her and telling her that the number eleven was a sign that the corn crop would be very good.

However, it was April, too early to plant corn, but just the right time to set sunflower seeds in the borders around the corn and vegetable patches.

To the Pawnee, April was known as the Sunflower-Planting Moon. The sunflowers added color to their gardens, protected the other crops and provided meal and oil for eating.

Sunflowers were the first to be planted and the last to be harvested.

Hearing a distant sound of thunder, Joylynn glanced at the sky. She saw no signs of clouds, which meant that the storm was far away and probably would not interrupt the women's work.

Joylynn had been told that the first thunder heard in the new year was the sign of the reawakening of the earth and the beginning of the natural cycle of growth.

She had been taught by Blanket Woman that
Tirawahut
talked to the people in the thunder, and they were glad to see the lightning flashes and hear the low rumblings of his voice. This was the time of quiet prayer within the lodges and of renewal of
certain Sacred Bundles whose powers helped sustain life.

That first thunder's roar had come six sunrises ago, bringing with it the fresh, clean smell of rain and hope.

Restless, with most of the women away from the village at work in the fields, Joylynn felt somewhat useless today. She knew that she was much too large to be of any help in the valley. She knew that she should not be thinking of doing any hard labor at all. Thus far, she had had no trouble carrying High Hawk's child safely within her womb. She did not want to do anything that would harm it now.

She looked over her shoulder at the children at play and at the elderly men sitting around the huge outdoor fire, puffing on their long-stemmed pipes and talking. Then she glanced at the huge council house. Her husband was there with his warriors, except for those who were on guard, watching for the approach of anyone who might be an enemy.

It seemed that she was the only one who did not have something to do. Her lodge was neat and clean, her day's meal was cooking in a pot over the flames of her lodge fire, and her fingers were pricked from too much sewing.

So what else was there to do but take a walk and pluck some fresh spring flowers, to bring their beautiful scent into her lodge?

Smiling, her decision made, she went back to her
tepee and grabbed a small wicker basket, then walked slowly from the village.

She walked onward until she entered a valley where she could not see the women preparing the fields, or the tepees in the village.

It was only her, the wind, the sun and an occasional soaring bald eagle. She saw a dark line of trees not far away to her left, and then the tall wall of rock that led into the canyon beyond.

On those canyon walls were many eagles' nests, far from where the Pawnee sentries were watching for enemies.

“I am not here to bother you or your hatchlings,” Joylynn said to one of the eagles, which had swooped low to eye her curiously. “I am here only for flowers. Will you guide me to the loveliest? I shall forever be grateful, for my feet are beginning to throb and I do not want to go home without flowers in my basket.”

To Joylynn's astonishment, the eagle soared away, then swept low again, its eyes on Joylynn. It had shown her a wide stretch of wild daisies just over the rise, where the eagle was still hovering.

And beyond that, she saw a huge variety of wild-flowers of all colors. The scent wafting toward her was something akin to heaven.

“Thank you,” Joylynn said to the bird as she walked in a wide circle amid the flowers. The eagle rose higher into the sky, and then was gone as quickly as it had arrived.

But Joylynn was too busy to notice that the eagle was gone, for she was bending and plucking pretty flowers and laying them in her basket.

She followed the field of flowers up to where the stand of trees began, their dark shadows suddenly looming over Joylynn. She shuddered at the mysteriousness of the trees and the silence and shadows surrounding them.

Remembering just how alone she was, Joylynn started to turn to go back home, but stopped when someone stepped from the trees, a rifle aimed directly at her stomach.

To her horror, she realized it was Mole. The man she loathed with every fiber of her being had come again, to threaten not only her child, but herself!

She could hardly believe this was happening. But her eyes told her that it was Mole, standing there leering at her, a half-smoked cigarillo hanging limply from the corner of his mouth.

Although this man was heavily whiskered with a gray beard, she knew that it was he. She would never forget those pale blue, empty eyes. And through the whiskers she could see his ugly moles, like dark eyes, staring back at her.

“Gotcha,” Mole said, taking the cigarillo from his mouth with his free hand. He flipped it over his shoulder, where it fell upon a thick stand of dead leaves and lay smoldering.

“How did you know where I was, and how on earth did you survive the attack?” Joylynn said, her
voice trembling. “I know I shot you. I just know it wasn't anyone else, yet . . . yet . . .”

“The same as you, I've got nine lives,” Mole said, laughing wickedly. “I left you for dead that day I raped you. How in tarnation did you walk away from that strangling alive?”

“I'll never tell, but how is it that you are alive? I did hit you with my bullet, didn't I?” Joylynn asked.

“Naw, don't believe so,” Mole said, idly shrugging. “Must've been your imagination.”

“How . . . did . . . you find me?” Joylynn asked, shivering when he took one long look at her belly. She had placed both hands on it now, her fingers splayed wide in an effort to protect her child from his filthy eyes, and especially . . . him.

“How did you find the Indian stronghold?” she quickly added, drawing his eyes up again.

“I ran across a lad just before the snows came to these mountain ranges,” Mole said, chuckling beneath his breath. “I got the truth outta him, all of it. That's when I knew you were still alive, and who you were living with. But it would've been too chancy to travel up the mountainside at that time, with snows threatening.”

A part of Joylynn went cold inside, for she knew who that “lad” must have been.

Andrew!

Oh, surely he
had
been on his way to escape from the life he had found among the Pawnee, for if he had reached the bottom of the mountain, he
had not gone to find himself a horse to bring back for a bride price.

He had taken advantage of High Hawk's goodness by not only taking the horse that High Hawk had loaned him, but also the rifle.

“How did you know that the young man told you the truth?” Joylynn asked, trying to put the bitterness she now felt for Andrew from her mind. She was almost sure he had died shortly after giving Mole the information he sought.

“It didn't take much sense to realize where this lad had been when I saw how he was dressed,” Mole said. “He had on Indian attire, so I figured that he'd been with Indians and would know where their stronghold was. He even wore moccasins.”

“Did . . . you . . . kill him?” Joylynn asked, still caring enough for Andrew, after all, to ask. She would never forget how the children had loved him, as well as Two Stars and Rose.

“Naw, but I'm sure he wished he was dead after I got through convincing him to part with the answers I needed,” Mole said, laughing throatily.

Hearing that Andrew had not willingly handed over such information was a little good news for Joylynn. Perhaps Andrew did care for the Pawnee, especially the woman he had professed to love.

Perhaps he had merely wandered farther than he had thought on the day he was hunting wild horses. And perhaps he was still alive, and could one day tell the truth about himself.

“What are your plans for me now that you found me alone?” Joylynn blurted out. “As you can see, I . . . I . . . am heavy with child.”

“Yep, I see that well enough with my eyes,” Mole mocked. “And I also see the way you're dressed. You're an Injun squaw who's going to give birth to a savage Injun brat. I'll get my jollies killing both you and the child at the same time.”

He visibly shuddered. “This time I don't have no intentions of raping you,” he said. “You don't do much for my sexual appetite, so big and all.”

Suddenly Joylynn saw her life flashing before her eyes. Everything she had gone through to find a life that meant something to her was going to be taken away. And she knew that Mole would be certain she was dead this time. But surely he wouldn't fire that rifle! It would bring the entire village of Pawnee warriors, as well as the sentries.

The sentries. How on earth had he gotten past them?

Then she knew. He had come from the back of the mountain where the Pawnee sentries thought they were safe from attack.

Just as Mole took a step closer, his rifle raised, obviously ready to bring the butt end of it down across her head, Joylynn took a shaky step away from him. She screamed when she saw an arrow fly between her and Mole, quickly becoming imbedded in his belly. His firearm went off when he dropped it.

His eyes wild and wide, he grabbed at the arrow, then looked past her and saw High Hawk running up to Joylynn and taking her protectively in his arms.

“Thank the Lord,” Joylynn cried, clinging to him. “Oh, thank
you
, High Hawk. Thank you, darling, for saving me from . . . from . . . a terrible death at the hands of that . . . that . . . creature.”

“This white man surely had a death wish, or why would he have come to this mountain alone?” High Hawk said just as Mole fell to his knees, his hands still gripping the part of the arrow that stuck from his belly.

“I . . . ain't . . . alone,” Mole said. Then a strange sort of gurgling sound came from deep within him, and he fell straight onto the arrow so that the other half protruded from his back.

Mole's final words, that he wasn't alone, sent a warning through both High Hawk and Joylynn.

High Hawk grabbed Joylynn up into his arms, struggling with her heavy weight, then started running toward their village. He stopped abruptly when he heard a voice behind them.

They both recognized the voice.

It . . . was . . . Andrew's!

Both Joylynn and High Hawk wondered if Andrew was aiming a firearm at them.

High Hawk was almost too afraid to turn and see. He couldn't bear to see the confirmation of Andrew's betrayal.

High Hawk turned slowly around and found Andrew standing there, gaunt, pale, and with a rifle lowered at his side.

“I lied to Mole,” Andrew said, his voice drawn. “I told him I'd not wanted to play the role of Indian, but that I wanted you all dead just like Mole did.”

“But still you brought him up the back of the mountain where you knew that I felt it was not necessary to establish sentries,” High Hawk said, slowly lowering Joylynn to her feet.

If Andrew fired upon him, at least Joylynn would be spared, momentarily.

High Hawk knew that it would take too much time to grab an arrow and place it on his bowstring. If only he had kept an arrow at the ready! Would he pay for his error in judgment by losing his beloved wife and unborn child, and then his own life?

“It was the only way I could survive long enough to tell you what had really happened to me when I didn't return with a horse as I had promised,” Andrew said hoarsely. “I had only one way to survive this terrible man's wrath, and that was by pretending I would help him, that all along I'd planned to bring the cavalry back and kill you and your people.”